


Local Girls in Your Area

by daphnerunning, Galiko



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Cam Modeling, Gratuitous Smut, Lingerie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 09:16:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9714860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnerunning/pseuds/daphnerunning, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galiko/pseuds/Galiko
Summary: In Makoto’s defense, he doesn’t usually do this kind of thing.At least, that’s what he would say if anyone caught him.In reality, it’s not that uncommon of him to surf around the internet, pretending to do homework, actually doing homework, until he arrives “on accident” on a site with thousands of thumbnails of Local Girls In Your AreaIn which Izumi cam models for the hell of it, Makoto finds out, and sparks fly.





	

In Makoto’s defense, he doesn’t usually do this kind of thing.

 

At least, that’s what he would say if anyone caught him.

 

In reality, it’s not _that_ uncommon of him to surf around the internet, pretending to do homework, actually doing homework, until he arrives “on accident” on a site with thousands of thumbnails of Local Girls In Your Area. At first, he’d started by looking at porn. It’s been getting harder and harder to focus on things before he gets off at least once lately, something he’s fairly sure is a) probably hormones and b) probably the end of the world, his world a storm of emotions and strange hungers over the last few years. But most sixteen-year-old boys look at porn, he thinks. Once, when he’d been looking at one of his favorite girls, a link at the bottom had popped up: **check out my live show** <3

 

He’d clicked.

 

Ever since, he’d been surfing around cam sites, watching the girls sit and laugh and touch their hair, flirting and sometimes dancing, applying lotion, eating little cream cakes, painting their nails, and all acting like they were thrilled to see him. Fortunately, he can read and write enough casual online English to be able to talk to them, at least a little, over a scrolling text screen. Other guys are there too, but most girls manage to respond to him eventually, with a wink and (if he’s really lucky) a little flash of inner thigh, or part of a breast. It’s exciting, but the worst part is when some guy with cash shows up, and all of her attention shifts. At that moment, Makoto knows how it’s going to go. Guys with credits on the site show up in a different color, and the girl always switches her focus to him, until the guy (or someone else) takes her to a private chat, and he gets booted.

 

This particular night, he gets kicked out of five chats in a row, all before he sees even a flash of a butt. Annoyed, watches the screen load, kicking him into a random room. It loads, showing a white wall, and a gorgeous back, trailing down to a round, shapely ass. The guys in this chat are a lot different--a lot more aggressive. Usually he sees guys pretending to care, offering the girl presents, asking what she’s into. In this one, it’s a constant stream-- _show me your hole, i’m gonna shove you facedown, you’re gonna choke on my fat meat,_ stuff that makes him pale. Hesitantly, he types a message.

 

**Hey guys, let’s be polite, okay? We’re all here to see someone very pretty, right? We can get along and have a good time together.**

 

The responses are not kind, and Makoto closes the chat for a moment, watching the girl on the bed sway slightly with the faint music playing in the background. She has nice rhythm, Makoto thinks, and reaches down, pulling himself out of his sweatpants, thumbing over the head to coax his cock to life.

 

Then she turns around.

 

And as it always is when he least expects it, it’s Sena Izumi.

 

Specifically, it’s Sena Izumi in nothing but a simple black thong, and a thin cloth mask that does little to obscure most of his face.

 

He thumbs the mask down for a moment—just long enough to bring the chat room to a rolling boil, enough to make comment after comment stream through about his mouth—before hiking it back up again and boredly leaning forward over his laptop, reading back through.

 

“Bring back the nice one,” Izumi eventually says, mic easily picking up the amusement in his voice. “You still around? I like being complimented.”

 

Makoto gulps, and hides his face in his hands, as if Izumi can see him. But no, he can’t--Makoto is safe in his room. That makes him breathe a little easier. He should close the window. This is stupid--he should close it, and never mention that he’d seen Izumi on a cam site, where he apparently works as a model, oh god. For some reason, his cock twitches, and he gives it a glare. It isn’t as if he hasn’t seen Izumi in various states of undress before, though not...quite....like this.

 

Hesitantly, not quite sure what he’s doing, he lowers his hands to the keys. Just like talking to a girl, he tells himself. He’s done that plenty, though never one he’s known in real life before.

 

**Hi! <3 It’s my first time in your room and I just wanted everyone to stop saying such rude things.**

 

What do girls want to hear?

 

**You’re very beautiful. And you have a GREAT ass.**

 

He hits ‘send,’ and buries his face in his hands. _He’s going to know it’s me, he’s going to freak out, he’s going to get all WEIRD, he always makes it so weird and even if I wanted to talk to him it’s too weird!_

 

“Heeeh. You’re super cute. If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll let you look at my ass more.”

 

He’s definitely getting some grumpy remarks in the chat room about that, but Izumi ignores it. It’s not every day he gets someone that seems like such…well, like such a _newbie_ floating through. Sure, he gets the idiots that can barely type beyond tossing orders around, but it’s something else when they’re so _polite_ and almost _concerned._ He leans forward, spreading his knees further on the bed. “I’m bored. Pay for me so we can talk more.”

 

Maybe, _maybe_ he gets off on this, just a little. It’s a fun way to kill time (and make an embarrassing amount of spending money, to be honest), but if his agent ever found out, he’d be dead. That sort of adds to the thrill of it, and it’s why the occasional glimpse of his face is that much more interesting to throw into the mix.

 

Makoto’s heart sinks.

 

**I don’t have any credits right now sorry...it’s ok if you have to talk to other guys, i just wanted to let you know that im really enjoying watching. thanks!**

 

“I’m a loser,” he groans out loud, glad that his mom is working late tonight. What is he even _doing_ here? Usually it’s all he can do to get Izumi to leave him alone, and now he’s snooping on him in private? _Pathetic, Yuuki,_ he thinks bitterly at himself. Izumi will take someone else to private any second, and he’ll stop getting those cute glimpses of Izumi’s creamy thighs.

 

It’s not like he’s afraid of Izumi because he’s _ugly_ , after all.

 

Izumi pouts. It’s obvious even with his mask in the way. “Go buy some, I want to play with you,” he complains, flopping backwards with his legs spread, his fingers absently sliding up to tweak one of his nipples. Ah, maybe that was too much. It’s only a matter of time before someone snatches him up.

 

Makoto swallows hard.

 

It’s been years since he’d grabbed one of Izumi’s gravure photos and headed to his room, just to see if he could pull it off. That had been before things got weird(er) between them, before his first thought about Izumi wasn’t _cool_ , but _creepy_.

 

But like this, with the barrier of glass and computer between them, it’s a lot harder to be scared.

 

And he _does_ know his mom’s credit card number by heart. _Sorry, Mom!_

 

**Give me five minutes, im going to purchase some. Ah...you should lose the thong while I buy them. Hold the pillow in your lap instead? Sorry if that’s too forward...**

 

_What am I doing??? I JUST got him to leave me alone!_

 

“You know, I _usually_ don’t do this kind of thing,” Izumi complains, even as he already starts easing the side of one thong down his hips. Just the motion of that makes a few, tiny tips roll in, thank god. It’s been a boring night. “If you’re messing with me and leave me hanging, I’m gonna be mad.”

 

But this guy sounds different than the usual idiot that rolls through, calling him names and not even taking the time to be creative about it, and so Izumi humors him, dragging a pillow over just as he drags his thong down and kicks it aside with a flick of one foot.

 

Makoto’s mouth goes dry. He leaves the tab open, opening a second one to buy the minimum amount, 2999 yen, and makes a mental note to leave his mom some of the cash from the shoebox under his bed.

 

Then he reenters the chat, feeling his cock hard at the sight--Izumi had done as he asked, god, and he tips a few credits, just to show that he’s back, and he’d done as promised.

 

**Talk in here for a minute first? I don’t have that many and I want to learn a little more about you first, if that’s okay...**

 

 _What am I doing?_ he asks again, miserably, but with less conviction. Maybe Izumi messed up something in his brain with all the forceful hugging over the years.

 

The tip is promising, at least, and the new guy’s name switches to a different color along with it. Good, he’s actually got money now, and Izumi doesn’t have to spend an evening being bored out of his mind (and horny). “Mm? Okay, go on, ask away. I’ll get annoyed if you take too long, though,” Izumi threatens, sprawling out with the pillow squished between his legs. “I’ve been lazing around all night.”

 

Makoto sucks in a deep breath. This...this reminds him of the Izumi he used to know, his super cool senpai that had taught him the tips and tricks of the modeling world, who’d been pouty and cool and smart and driven. He licks his lips, letting his hand move back to his lap absently between typing.

 

**You seem bored. Why not get guys to touch you irl? You’re so beautiful I’m sure they’d be all over you at a club. You have legs like you can dance really well...**

 

_Don’t be too obvious!!_

 

“Because I’m picky,” Izumi says with a laugh, deliberately stretching out his legs to let his new, mystery admirer get a better look. “You think I’d just let any guy touch me in real life? D’you think I’m that much of a slut?”

 

Makoto’s breath catches in his throat. He gives himself a squeeze, rubbing a little to take the edge off, and shifts closer to the screen, pushing up his glasses.

 

**You look too clean and smooth to actually do that stuff with guys...I just wondered if you had because, do you know what you like? I’d like to hear you talk about what you like guys to do to you...**

 

“Just because I’m not a slut doesn’t mean I don’t know what I like.” Izumi’s eyes lid, and he drags his fingers down his own side, thumbing over his hip and sliding back to brush over the curve of his ass. It’s obscured from the camera, but that doesn’t mean his audience can’t extrapolate. “I can’t talk too dirty out here. There’s lots of other guys listening in, you know? Ah, like this one, so annoying,” he grumbles, leaning back to his laptop to ban one offender that keeps spamming the chat with ‘SHOW ASS.’ _Ugh._

 

Makoto licks his lips. This is so stupid.

 

**[Take Sei to Private?]**

**[yes]**

 

The clock in the corner says that he has just under eight minutes, which suddenly bumps to 15 with a sparkly banner that reads **[Congratulations! First Time Bonus~!]**

 

**Hi. Sorry, you looked so good I couldn’t wait.**

 

Izumi brightens, his entire face lighting up as he pulls his mask off with a sigh of relief. “Oh, good, I get you for longer than I thought I would,” he hums, shoving himself up into a sitting position and tossing his pillow away. His cock is already hard, leaking a little at the tip, and Izumi only _just_ resists touching it, his fingers splayed over his thighs. “You’ve been cute, so I’ll do a lot more for you than I would any other guy…mm, what d’you want me to call you?”

 

Makoto lets out a little whimper, biting his lip hard when his cock jumps in his hand. It isn’t like he’d been unsure, but seeing Izumi’s face without the mask just adds that extra layer of confirmation. It’s almost like they’re chatting like they used to, texting back and forth before things had gotten weird.

 

But with dicks out.

 

So, not _really_ like they used to.

 

 **Shin** , he types, an alternate reading of his first name that he usually uses online. **You’ve got the prettiest one ever. It’s so wet. Can I see the back?**

 

“This is why I’ll keep you,” Izumi sighs, deliberately letting his fingers trail down over his stomach to his cock, his thumb dragging over the tip. It comes away sticky when he pulls his hand away, the little string of fluid attaching them glistening. “You keep complimenting me. Mnn, Shiiin, don’t _ask_ , you should boss me around a little.”

 

Makoto tries very hard not to think about the fact he’d never spent money on one of the girls on this site, and is now watching his creepy senpai touch himself, and paying for the privilege. Ah, but Izumi doesn’t look creepy right now. He looks like a debauched angel, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with arousal that Makoto can’t imagine is faked.

 

**Okay, if that’s what you really want, I’ll try my best. Turn over. Are you wet back there? I want to see your fingers go in.**

 

He could _never_ say any of this aloud, but on the internet...

 

Izumi bites his lip, obviously pleased, and he twists around to kneel with his back to the camera, briefly checking over his shoulder to make sure he’s at the right angle. “I bet you’d like putting your dick back here, huh?” he breathes, snaking a hand back and taking his time to arch back against the first touch of his fingers to his hole. It’s slick enough that it definitely _looks_ that way on camera, courtesy of generous amounts of lube before he started his show for the evening. Two fingers press, then sink in, and Izumi groans, his head tipping forward. Normally, it’s a guessing game about whether or not guys want him to play up it _not being enough_ or it being _too much_ , but this guy…he’s got a feeling. “It’s…it’s a lot, Shin, I…”

 

Makoto bites down on his hand to stop from whimpering, his hand moving faster in his lap. He hadn’t thought that it would affect him so much to hear Izumi say something like that, let alone breathing his fake name, let alone how pretty his ass would look, all spread out and slick like it is, like it’s wet for him like a girl would be.

 

 **I’d love to put it in,** he types without stopping to think. **Don’t worry, I’d go slow if you asked me to...if you said it was too much and begged me to go slow I’d definitely be nice to you. Do you have toys?**

 

“You need a mic so I don’t have to fucking read when I’m turned on,” Izumi huffs, twisting around and fumbling with his other hand to enlarge the text and make his life a _lot_ easier. “Y-yeah, I have toys.” But he’s distracted, so help him, and getting carried away by curling his fingers in deeper and stroking. It makes the muscles in his thighs and ass tense, and Izumi rocks back onto his hand with a hot exhale. “Nn, what if I begged you to be nice and you still fucked me hard? I’ve always wanted a guy to do that…”

 

 _It’s not bad if he says he’s always wanted it, right?_ Makoto rationalizes frantically, pumping hard on his cock, feeling himself get closer and closer to coming, wishing he could do it while buried in that gorgeous tight ass. No, no, he shouldn’t be thinking about his senpai this way, this was wrong, just a weird trick of the internet, a one-time thing....right?

 

**You look like you’re too far gone for the toys. Can you fuck yourself with your fingers and come? I’d make sure you had a good time at least.**

 

Makoto takes a deep breath, then continues, letting some of his fantasies take life with the words.

 

**But I wouldn’t stop even if you begged me, because I know that someone naughty like you really needs to be fucked hard.**

 

 _Any_ guy’s voice _saying_ those things would be great right now. The words sear into Izumi’s mind all the same, and he sags forward, his voice breaking on a whimper when twists his hand to try and wriggle a third finger inside. It’s definitely a stretch, and leaves him trembling, twitching when his back arches and his fingers sink in as far as they can. “Fuck,” Izumi rasps, shivering hard. “F-fuck, I want…I want you to fuck me like that, I’m gonna…”

 

An absent, hazy glance down, and Izumi can see the slick drip of his cock onto his sheets. He swallows hard, his eyes fluttering when each shove of his own fingers makes him teeter even further on the edge. “You’ve gotta…t-tell me I can come, please, it’s t-too much—“

 

Makoto’s hand flies up and down. He looks at the clock in the corner, and curses.

 

**Do it. I want to watch you come on your hand then lick it up and be messyyyy**

 

He hadn’t meant to type so many s’s but his own orgasm rips out of him before he has a chance to watch, spurting over his hand and sweatpants in an embarrassing flood of liquid.

 

Izumi doesn’t _exactly_ wait to be told. He’s been bored and horny for long enough that some one-handed typing isn’t going to stop him either way, and the sudden, sharp shock of coming so hard leaves him sagging, reaching forward to grab at his headboard, panting out a ragged, breathy sound when he dares to give a final, trembling curl of his fingers inside of him, just enough to milk out the last few throbs of his cock.

 

Only then does he bother to glance over his shoulder to read…and notice there’s definitely only a couple of minutes and change left, whoops. “…Maybe if you come back later,” he dazedly laughs, slowly dragging his hand out and flopping back onto the bed in a heap of limbs. “Licking it up might fuck with my diet. Nnn, did you come hard, Shin-kun?”

 

The last sentence is so quintessentially _Izumi_ that Makoto shudders, and feels his cock give a last squirt of liquid.

 

**Hard enough that I cant see, typing blind right now. Can we do this again next time I have money? You’re perfec.t**

 

“You better come back, or I’ll be pissed.” _Where’s this guy in real life to give me a good time?_ Izumi irritably thinks, trying not to punch a pillow. “Watch the recording of this later, okay? You might’ve missed some good parts when you were blind, heh.”

 

Makoto bites his lip, not sure if he has the courage to type--

 

What the hell, it’s not like Izumi knows who he is.

 

**Next time use your toy. I’ll call you oniichan.**

 

Nope, that makes him flush, and he exits out of the chat, horribly embarrassed.

 

After that, Izumi has to close his laptop, shaky and overstimulated, pulse pounding in his ears.

 

_I’ll call you oniichan._

 

Well, that’s a quick and easy way to come again.

 

The next day, he’s still overstimulated, growling at the slightest brush of _any_ individual near him on the train on his way to school, and Izumi can’t even think about touching his food when lunch period rolls around. He glowers down into his phone, shoving his bento in Arashi’s general direction. “I can’t even look at that right now, do something about it.” Maybe if he were prettier, maybe if he were skinnier, _someone_ in _real life_ would call him _Onii-chan._

 

Arashi nearly tries to force the issue, but gives up when he catches a glimpse of Izumi’s face. This doesn’t look like one of his good days. He shrugs, pulling the bento closer to him, nibbling at a cube of skinless chicken breast on top of lettuce. Yuck. “Bad night?”

 

“Do you think I’m fun in bed?” Izumi bluntly asks. “Or at least hot without camera filters?”

 

Like there’s not an obvious answer? Arashi leans forward, holding Izumi’s eyes, grabbing his hand and squeezing. “You’re the wildest ride ever. And you look like you’re airbrushed in real life, and I _hate_ that, you’ve got skin I would literally kill for if it didn’t clash with my eyes and hair. Like, I’d actually kill you and take your skin.”

 

That seems to satisfy Izumi for the moment, and he shifts back huffily, maybe clinging to Arashi’s hand more needily than he normally would. “Then why can’t I _get_ anyone in real life?” he complains. “You’re one thing, but we’re not dating, and I—ugh, this fucker in one of my rooms last night, he knew exactly how to get me off and I’m still pissed about it, that’s what started this.”

 

“You’re pissed that someone actually got you off?” Arashi asks mildly. He’d figured it was something like this, but the reality was a bit odder than he’d anticipated. “Did you download 9monsters like I told you? One of my senpai at work says he’s getting laid left and right on that thing.”

 

“I’m too picky about guys touching me in real life. Anyway, it was the _way_ this guy got me off, he—“ Izumi’s lips purse. “He told me he’d call me Onii-chan next time. Out of nowhere! Fucking unfair.”

 

Arashi doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing, and he lets out a sigh as he nibbles on another flavorless chicken cube. “So? Hook up with this guy. I mean, even if he’s old and fat and ugly, at least he can talk you off, right? Get his Line.”

 

“I can’t ask for that or I’ll get banned,” Izumi grouses. “He didn’t type like an old guy, and he was fucking broke, so he was probably some college student or something. Don’t ruin my fantasies, maybe he’s hot and blonde.”

 

All right, Izumi pining over a mystery man is starting to get interesting. Arashi sighs, leaning his head on one hand. “Mm, young love, so cute! What’s his name, your Prince Charming--bigcock227? 999lovetwinks?”

 

“I’ll fuck you up. He just wanted me to call him Shin, super fucking normal, you know? He was the one telling everyone else in the chat room to be nice and polite to me, it was kinda cute.”

 

Arashi pokes Izumi’s arm gently. “So, it was good? I thought you were nuts when you told me about that camwhoring thing, you know, like a bunch of guys were going to find you and do stuff to you. What if he _is_ hot and blond? I mean, he’s probably pimply, or he could get a boyfriend in real life, right?”

 

“I can fix _anyone’s_ skin with a proper routine,” Izumi scoffs, leaning back with a sigh. “I dunno, it’s stupid to even think about, I know. I just…” He trails off, shrugging helplessly, not sure how to put anything to words—or if he even wants to. “I’ve been _trying_ to be better lately,” he finally mutters, shifting uncomfortably. “Since Ou-sama came back. I don’t want him to see me act like a fucking idiot about Yuu-kun, but then shit like this happens, and I start thinking about him and I…I just want to talk to him. Tell me that’s stupid.”

 

Goddammit, Arashi had thought this was a _good_ sign. He sighs, pushing Izumi’s bland food away and pulling out his phone. “It’s stupid. You actually talked to a cute guy, and he got you off, and you’re _still_ thinking about the guy that doesn’t want you at all. So yeah, that’s stupid.”

 

“It reminded me of him, why do you think I got off so easily?” Izumi irritably grabs up his bag and climbs to his feet. “Whatever. Walk with me, I gotta get shit from my locker before practice.”

 

For a minute, Arashi considers solving the problem. It would be easy, he knows. Izumi _would_ date him. He hasn’t been exactly subtle about letting Arashi know in the past. He’s a great lay, and they have a lot in common, and Izumi is one of his closest friends.

 

But...

 

_But I’d always be second fiddle to someone that he can’t have._

 

Arashi shoulders his bag with a huff, following after Izumi. “Why’s your locker so faaaar? They should put the third years and second years closer together.”

 

“God, I always forget you’re a second year,” Izumi mutters. Bringing up Makoto had been a mistake. Now he’s even moodier, thinking about endlessly negative things and how itchy he feels in his own skin, and he hates every second of having to socialize with that on his mind. “A second year with shitty grades, at that. Ugh, why is everyone else like this, except Kasa-kun—you all fucking suck.”

 

There’s already something off about his locker, Izumi can tell. A little sliver of paper sticks out from the grates, and Izumi sighs, wondering what stupid temporary unit he’s been invited to _now_. “I hate this school sometimes,” he grouses, and flips through his combination to pull it open.

 

Rather than a flier inviting him somewhere, there’s an actual package. Izumi freezes, staring at it. “…Someone knows my combination,” he mutters, pulling it out. “Fucking obnoxious, did you tell anyone?”

 

Arashi blinks, taken aback. “Eh? I don’t even know your combination. Hey, what’s in it?” He grabs for it, shaking it gently to see if it’s a bomb or something, like in the movies. “Hmm, definitely cloth and something else, can I open it?”

 

“I don’t know what you know, you’re sneaky. Yeah, go ahead and open it,” Izumi says, shaking his head as he pulls the tape off of the folded letter attached to it. It’s typed, and all it says is: **Until next time, Sei! <3**

 

Izumi’s heart jumps up into his throat. “I am so fucked.”

 

Arashi opens the package, plucked eyebrows arched as he pulls out a lacy pink thong, along with a deep purple flower and a little jar of foot cream, the kind he’s seen Izumi put on after a long day of dance practice. “How much do you _talk_ in your shows?” he asks, mystified.

 

“I don’t! I don’t at all, not about that kind of stuff!” Certain parts of the chat room conversation start coming back to make weird, _weird_ sense, and Izumi stares back at Arashi, eyes wide. “This guy knows who I _am_. Like—he’s a student here. He has to be. I have a _stalker._ ”

 

Arashi gasps, and winds a hand around Izumi’s waist, drawing him close. “Don’t worry, Izumi-chan, I’ll protect you!” Then he pauses. “Wait. That’s totally a good thing, right? We’re all idols, no one here is that ugly.”

 

“There are _definitely_ a lot of people here that I don’t want to have as a stalker,” Izumi protests, half-heartedly slapping a hand against Arashi’s chest to push him away. “If I don’t have a really hot stalker, I’m gonna be pissed.”

 

“Okay, let’s go over it,” Arashi says eagerly, pulling out a notebook and pen. “Let’s see who it could be. Okay, 3-A, go. It’s _not_ Tenshouin, yeah?”

 

“Let me see that lingerie,” Izumi insists, snatching it out to examine it. “Yeah, no, not him. This is way too cheap. So that eliminates Itsuki and Hakaze, too…and Morisawa would be way more direct than this, he doesn’t have enough chill to stalk someone.” 

 

“And I really doubt Hasumi would want to call you _onii-chan_ ,” Arashi points out, checking him off the list. “What about Itsuki? I dunno that guy’s weird kinks, but I’d lay money on lingerie.”

 

“But he’d hand make it. He’s out, cross him off.”

 

“Fair enough,” Arashi mutters. “Okay, 3-B. Nazuna? Nah, he wants to be _called_ onii-chan. Ooh, Aoba! He’s super weird!”

 

“Gross, ugh. He always is talking about crossdressing, too. Damn it, I don’t want him to be my stalker,” Izumi whines, hanging off of Arashi’s shoulder to peer down the list. “Not Kiryu, he’d make it himself, too.”

 

“Not necessarily,” Arashi points out. “He says he can’t make the really fancy stuff. I’m leaving him on, because it’s funny.”

 

“I hate you. Ugh, not Sakuma, he can’t even use a phone, let alone a chat room. And Shinkai’s a fucking fish.”

 

“Hibiki? He’s super weird, right? I dunno what that guy would do...”

 

“There’s no way he could fake normal for long enough to chat with me. Pass, pass.”

 

Arashi nods. “Right, then from third year, it could either be Kiryuu or Aoba. Okay, 2-A. It’s _not_ Adonis-chan, no matter how much that thought makes you drool, he’s way too much of a good boy!”

 

“You skipped Ou-sama, fuck you,” Izumi grouses, but he doesn’t insist on Leo’s name being put anywhere near the list. “Yeah, whatever, your track team is all out. Please not that samurai kid, I don’t have time for that.”

 

Arashi bites his tongue on the phrase, _We both know it isn’t Ou-sama, you lovesick fool._ Instead, he shakes his head. “Nope, same as Sakuma, definitely can’t use a computer. Heh...I wonder if it’s Sakasaki? He’s totally into crossdressing, right? And he has that nii-chan thing...”

 

“No way, he wants to _be_ the one crossdressing.” Izumi’s lips purse unhappily. “Just go ahead and cross off all of Trickstar.”

 

Arashi starts to, then stops. “Are you sure about Isara? He’s got that feel about him like a repressed straight dude that would white knight in a cam chat room, right?”

 

“I’m crossing him off for my own health. Kuma-kun will kill me, I’m not fucking with that.”

 

Arashi nods speculatively. “Mm, how about Ritsu-chan? I mean...we both know he has that thing. But he could actually fuck you, right? Like.” He blinks. “We’re not pretending that you wouldn’t fuck Ritsu-chan, are we?”

 

Izumi shrugs. “Oh, no, I’d fuck him. It’s not like I haven’t made out with him, he’s hot. But I don’t think it’s him—he’d just go up to me and say he wanted to fuck me and call me ‘onii-chan’, and I’d say yes.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Neither of you are like, subtle.” Arashi purses his lips, thinking. “It’s probably not anyone from first year, right? I mean, if it is, I’d rather just not know.”

 

“Yeah, no. I don’t want a baby stalker, gross.” Izumi’s eyebrows raise, and he pokes Arashi in the side. “It’s not you, is it? I’m pretty _sure_ you don’t wanna call me onii-chan, but I could be wrong.”

 

Arashi wrinkles his nose, holding up the panties. “Please, I’d have gone for silk. Don’t scrimp where it counts, you know? Besides, I know I can get it if I want to, I’m not going to pay you to jack off.”

 

“Don’t hold those up like that, people are gonna _see_ ,” Izumi exasperatedly says, snatching them away. “Fine, it’s not you. Kagehira? He’s weird enough. What the fuck is up with handicrafts club?”

 

“He’s poor, but otherwise, good thought,” Arashi acknowledges. “It’s kind of a weird little club, isn’t it? Full of guys that want to put you in panties and call you onii-chan...”

 

“The guy in my chat room was poor, he barely could afford tipping me,” Izumi scoffs. “This is the worst. The only one I’d fuck in that club is Itsuki, and that was only before the croissant thing.”

 

“I know, I know. Desert.” Arashi winks, and shoves the package back at Izumi’s chest. “What else did he say? And why wouldn’t you fuck Mika-chan, he’s soooo cute.”

 

“Yeah, sure, but he looks like he wants a dick up his ass and isn’t gonna put one in mine,” Izumi lowly, bluntly points out. He scowls down at the package and shoves it into his locker. “He didn’t say that much. Made comments about how I looked like a dancer, which, uh, seeing this shit, is a definitely stalker-level? He also kept asking about why someone as pretty as me didn’t have a boyfriend, that kind of thing.”

 

“Hmm.” Arashi taps his chin, thinking, then admits, “It could easily be someone from one of the other courses, you know. Like, the business and producer courses? They’d see you around a lot but not actually _know_ you, and it wouldn’t be that hard to find your locker if they followed you.”

 

“The chance of them being ugly is much higher then. I don’t wanna think about that.”

 

“Cool, then it’s probably Aoba. Congrats, I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

 

“I’ll kill myself if it’s him. I don’t care how kinky he is in bed, not worth it, he’s _not_ my type.”

 

Arashi cocks his head, shouldering his back when it tries to slip down. “Do you know him, or something? I’ve only seen him perform a couple of times, but he’s really good onstage...”

 

“Pushovers piss me off,” Izumi retorts, shutting his locker. He contemplates changing his combination, but curiosity keeps getting the better of him, so he lets it be. “He’s also just _not_ my type. If you don’t look like a model or like you could be one, I’m not gonna date you, period.”

 

Arashi sighs. There’s no arguing with Izumi when he gets this way, of course. “Then put a motion-trigger camera in your locker and catch the bastard. Or call him out online. You think he’ll be back?”

 

“Maybe.” Izumi hesitates, then opens his locker again, grabbing the package out of it and stuffing it into his bag. “What the hell, I’ll take the bait,” he mutters. “At least having a stalker is more interesting than not.”

 

Makoto feels sweat run down his palms all day until tennis practice. He’s certain that Izumi is going to notice, that he’s already noticed, that he’ll say something--

 

But he doesn’t.

 

He looks a little distracted, a little preoccupied, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at Makoto more than usual, and some of the fear recedes. _Maybe he really didn’t know it was me. I thought I was way too obvious, but maybe not!_

 

That, of course, begged the question: what to do now?

 

The first part was easy. He started taking part-time jobs after school along with Shino and Kagehira, washing dishes and cleaning floors in exchange for some cash. Then he carefully pooled his money at the end of the week, and bought gift cards at the store that the clerk promised with a wink would work on any website. They do, fortunately, and on Friday night, Makoto settles excitedly in and pulls up CherryLive, clicking on the Male section for the first time, scanning until he sees that familiar head of ash-gray hair above the cloth mask. He enters the room, heart thudding, cock twitching to life at the thought of what he’s doing.

 

**Hi. You miss me?**

 

_Finally, this asshole!_

 

Izumi doesn’t say that out loud, not yet, but he hopes the glower he directs at his camera gets the point across. It should, after a week of nothing, after spending too much fucking time in this cam room and losing sleep. It’s not that he’s _scared_ —it’s just the idea of having a stalker that knows him at school is…okay, it does make him a little nervous. It’s one thing to get them on the job, but it’s something else within Yumenosaki. “Yeah.” A strange mix of anxiety and arousal flutters down his spine. This is stupid. He should not be encouraging this. “Take me to private, you made me wait too long.”

 

**Sorry. I was busy.**

 

It’s so much easier to be blunt online, to say how he feels. Maybe if they’d talked online a lot more, things would never have gotten so weird between them...

 

**[Take Sei to private?]**

**[yes]**

 

Coins start clicking down in the corner of the window, and Makoto sits back, watching the screen change, the other chats disappear.

 

**It was too weird, wasn’t it? I didn’t mean to freak you out. Sorry.**

 

Izumi rips his mask off, and he’s pouting more than frowning. “You can’t even be fucked to get a mic this time either?” he complains. “If you’re gonna be creepy and stalk me, at least do some things properly. Give me a hint, what class are you in?”

 

**But if I got a mic, you’d know it was**

 

Delete, delete, delete. No need to be obvious. And a little dark part of him is enjoying watching Izumi twist about this. _Don’t apologize,_ he thinks to himself. _That doesn’t turn him on._ The fact that he actually wants to turn Izumi on is a weird one, when he’s spent the past several months trying to do the opposite, but it’s different like this. He’s safe like this.

 

Instead, he types, **Play along, Onii-chan. It’s part of the mystery. Now spread your pretty legs. Have you been playing with a lot of guys today?**

 

Izumi’s mouth opens, ready to argue, then snaps shut again as he settles back, more or less mollified. It’s not like his stalker can _do_ anything to him at school, and even if he did…if it’s like this, maybe he wouldn’t mind so much… _File under: things I shouldn’t mention to Naru-kun._

 

“I haven’t,” he moodily answers instead, thumbing down the waistband of skin-tight leggings to let just a glimmer of pink lace show at his hip bone as he lets his thighs splay open. “I told you, I was waiting for you to show up and keep me company.”

 

Makoto sucks in a breath. He hadn’t really been optimistic, but...Izumi is _wearing_ his present. He licks his lips, rubbing over himself, eyes locked on the screen.

 

**Good, good. Take those leggings off. Leave the panties on. It’s better if it gets really tight when you get hard, right? And I can see how wet you are from the mess it leaves on the fabric.**

 

It’s like a stream of consciousness, the fantasies being ripped out of him, straight from his dick to the keyboard.

 

At least his stalker learned a lesson last time: give orders, don’t _ask._

 

Izumi sucks in a sharp breath, his hands already shaky when he peels his leggings off and kicks them aside. His cock is already hard, and cheap lace doesn’t feel _great_ against it, but in a way, that just turns him on more. At least no one can say he isn’t easy, damn it. “You have a big dick, don’t you?” he breathlessly asks, already throwing an arm to the side to snatch up his bottle of lube. “You talk like you do. When are you gonna just grab me at school and do me in an empty classroom, huh?”

 

Makoto looks down at himself. It isn’t small, he knows, but his opportunities to compare it with anyone outside of porn haven’t exactly been plentiful. Usually in public restrooms he’s too busy trying not to let anyone hear him pee to do anything weird. So because it seems to turn Izumi on more than kindness (though it was being kind that got him noticed in the chat room--Izumi is still so weird), he phrases everything as bluntly and forcefully as he can do only on the internet.

 

**I’ll do it when you’re not expecting it. And it’s bigger than yours. That’s all you need to know. Get your toy ready but don’t put it in until I tell you.**

 

Izumi exhales a frustrated, impatient sound, but he dives to the side, anyway, giving his stalker a nice view of his ass for a moment when he reaches into the box deliberately set next to his bed. “At least don’t do it on a day that I have work afterwards,” he groans, flopping back down, legs spread and fingers fiddling with his bottle of lube. The toy is modestly large—nothing weirdly huge or anything—but Izumi knows it’s still enough to be difficult to deal with when he’s already this riled up, and…well, Stalker-san seems to like that concept, so he’ll roll with it. “I’m so hard, Shin,” he whines, reaching down to pull the string of his thong aside. “Let me do it already.”

 

Makoto sucks in a breath. The toy is a nice one, though not one that he would have chosen, and it has a decent curve that reminds him of his own. His hand tightens, and starts stroking in earnest now.

 

**Back up close to the camera. Make sure you get a good angle when it goes in. What was the last time you had a real man inside you?**

 

“Fuck you, it’s been…it’s been awhile.” Technically, about a week—which isn’t anywhere near fair by his standards, and Izumi hopes his asshole stalker knows that. Izumi exhales a hot breath, twisting around to make sure he’s got a good angle when he lets the head of the toy press against his hole. “Mm, how’s that? Can I, please?”

 

 **If we were dating,** Makoto types before he thinks better of it, **I wouldn’t let you go a day without feeling me in you at least twice. Put it in. Let me hear how good it makes you feel.**

 

If he were thinking, he’d probably be horrified at himself, but the idea of it, of Izumi riding his cock every morning, every day at lunch, every night, clenching and twisting and whining...

 

Izumi’s eyes flutter, his face already flushing dark pink at the words alone. He can feel his cock dripping, rubbing against that damned lace every time he shifts. “God, I wish you were fucking me right now,” he groans, pressing the tip of the toy against his hole, and then sinking down, his breath catching up in his throat.

 

Just like he thought—he’s tense and wound up enough that it takes _effort_ to wriggle down onto the thick toy, even with a generous amount of lube, even gripping at his headboard for better leverage. Izumi hears himself whimper, but he’s too focused on how it feels to be stuffed full, stretched out around that dildo that _could_ be a real dick if his stalker would grow a pair and fuck him in real life already. He shudders, arching his back as he shoves in the toy the rest of the way to the flared base and bites his lip as he clenches down around it. “I-it’s…” He swallows audibly. “It’s a lot, I…”

 

Makoto groans low in his throat. Izumi is unfairly hot for a guy, all slender waist and firm ass that he’d love to squeeze, and why couldn’t it have been like _this_ from the beginning? Why couldn’t it have been fun and easy and sexy like this, with Izumi begging to be fucked even if he obviously has trouble taking all of that...

 

**Imagine it’s me. I’d hold you down and fuck you so hard you’d be crying. I’m bigger than that toy so you’d have to prove you can take it.**

 

He’s shaking a little, hand dropping back to his lap, even harder given how embarrassed he is, but if he doesn’t think about it...

 

Izumi’s vision blurs when he reads that, and his breath hiccups. The muscles in his thighs are so wound-tight that it _aches_ to shift and move, to drag that toy half-way out before sinking back down onto it again with a low, throaty groan. “Y…you…nnnh…if you’re bigger…god, it’s gonna feel so…” His fingers tremble when he hurries to twist the toy, getting it at a better angle, which is both a blessing and a curse when it rubs _too_ perfectly inside of him.

 

He bites back a yelp, shoving his other hand against his mouth when his cock jerks and throbs, a little, sticky stream already dripping out. “P-please, I’m gonna…”

 

**Already? You’re so easy.**

 

Makoto rubs faster, tugging hard on himself to get him up to speed. It isn’t difficult, not when Izumi is already looking so wrecked, looking like he’ll die without more inside him, without someone fucking him hard and putting him up wet. Either Izumi is a better actor than he thought--doubtful, he’s seen Izumi stumble his way through scripts for skits--or he wants this so bad it’s almost killing him. _It’s been a while,_ Izumi had said, so there is someone, or there was, and Makoto feels stupid jealousy swell in him, even as he gets closer to the edge, typing with one hand.

 

**go on. you can come oniichan. do it for me.**

 

Permission isn’t as great as being called _Onii-chan_ , even if it’s just text on a screen, because it’s pretty damn easy to imagine those words coming out of—

 

Just thinking about it makes Izumi stuff his hand harder against his mouth, biting into it to stifle his scream. Squirming and wriggling down onto his toy just makes it worse (better??), and his chest heaves with every pulse of his cock, still trapped behind now decidedly stickier lace.

 

He sags forward, barely catching himself with one hand, and tries to ignore the aftershock of a cramping charley horse in one leg. _Worth it._ “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck. W-why aren’t you here to come _in_ me, then I’d get off _again._ ”

 

Izumi came—without even touching his cock, Makoto realizes, and that tips him over the edge, coming on his hand in a way that just doesn’t feel as satisfying as it had last time, even if his body sings and pulses, hungry for contact when all he can do is touch his fingertips to Izumi’s face on the screen. _I’m doomed_ , he realizes, as his heart does a stupid little flutter in his chest.

 

**We should meet.**

 

A stupid thing to say, but he’s being stupid tonight, and he wants that contact so bad it hurts.

 

**I’m**

 

Before he can hit _send_ on the second message, his credits run out, and he’s booted back to the public chat room. The screen goes dark, filled with a sixty-second countdown to give the performer a chance to put himself back together. “Shit,” he mutters to himself, and drags his nonsticky hand down his face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

 

“Fuck—fuck you, fuck you, Izumi snarls, nearly tossing his laptop across the room in his frustration. He flops down face first instead with a huffy whine. Two for two _good_ orgasms now, that’s not fair. Stupid cheapskate stalker.

 

It takes _effort_ to pull out the toy when he doesn’t feel like moving at all, and discarding those sticky, disgusting panties with trembling hands just makes him horny all over again. This is the worst.

 

He hikes up his leggings just in time for the chat to go back to public, and he zeroes in on his stalker’s name. “Oi,” Izumi snaps, barely remembering to pull his mask back over his face. “If you wanna make good on that, you better meet me in the dance practice room. You know the one, I’ll be pissed if you don’t.”

 

 _I could never do that!_ Makoto thinks frantically, though, yeah, he knows the one. He knows how much time Izumi spends there, and how it always felt as if he owned the place, dancing as if he’s born to be in the air. No, he couldn’t. He can’t. It’s impossible, he’s only _just_ gotten Izumi to leave him alone—

 

**What time, what day?**

 

What’s left of his logical mind—not much, after an orgasm like that—tries to rear its ugly head. _You’re gonna diiiiiie,_ it tries to tell him, reminding him that this is a stalker, not someone safe and easy like Arashi. This is a stalker that left lingerie in his locker—knows his locker combination—knows him well enough to know what kind of foot cream he uses, knows which practice room he’s always in.

 

Yeah, fuck it.

 

“You said you’d surprise me, so make good on it.” He’ll probably throw himself off of a bridge if it’s Aoba Tsumugi, though.

 

Embarrassed, disgusted, a little excited, Makoto closes his laptop, then wipes up his mess. Before flopping down onto his twin bed, he grabs his phone, texting Mao.

 

**To: Isara-kun**

**help how do you tell a girl she’s great if she used to have a crush on you and you rejected her and she got over it and all of a sudden she looks really hot and you think she’s cute?**

 

**To: Yuuki Makoto**

**Subject: ………**

**um. i mean i’m not going to judge too hard but that does kind of come off as shallow? so you really are going to have to make it up to her…**

 

**To: Isara-kun**

**how do i do that? I gave her a flower and some panties and foot cream but should i get her something else? i don’t want her to hate me but i feel like a mean guy orz**

 

**To: Yuuki Makoto**

**Subject: man…**

**it’s really not about what you get her? it’s how you treat her. pay attention to her and talk to her and idk be interested in her? that MIGHT make up for you rejecting her before.**

 

**To: Isara-kun**

**what if she hits me im scared**

 

**To: Yuuki Makoto**

**Subject: omg**

**it’s a girl how hard could she hit you???**

 

**To: Yuuki Makoto**

**wait is this anzu??? half the school is gonna kill you**

 

**To: Isara-kun**

**omg no it’s not anzu**

 

**To: Isara-kun**

**why did she say something about me, i did my hair different do you think she noticed**

 

**To: Yuuki Makoto**

**dude**

 

**To: Yuuki Makoto**

**you’re a two timer already what’s wrong with you**

 

**To: Isara-kun**

**IM NOT DATING HIM YET IM NOT A TWO TIMER**

 

**To: Isara-kun**

**ha ha *her autocorrect wtf**

 

Sweating, he’s sweating so much.

 

**To: Yuuki Makoto**

**Subject: ok………**

**maybe you aren’t a two timer yet but if you keep looking at more than one girl you’re never going to have a real girlfriend. seriously. don’t be like that.**

 

**To: Yuuki Makoto**

**so if it isn’t anzu who is it do i know her?**

 

**To: Isara-kun**

**no she goes to another school. www you just want anzu all to yourself right? you should ask her out she likes you.**

 

**To: Yuuki Makoto**

**you’re trying to change the subject you don’t know girls from other schools. is this a model. i thought you said you weren’t getting back into that >(**

 

**To: Isara-kun**

**it’s a model yeah but shes getting out of the business too and wanted to talk about it…im not getting back into it i swear!! im 100% trickstar!**

 

**To: Yuuki Makoto**

**ok…if you say so. well good luck man. i hope she realizes you’re serious now. stop oggling anzu that’ll help.**

 

**To: Isara-kun**

**I don’t think im oogling! Im just appreciateing. but point taken man. sorry to bug you but thank you ill try listening more!**

 

**To: Yuuki Makoto**

**and if she’s that hot congrats. ttyl i have ritsu breathing down my neck**

 

**~**

 

“Ah, Sena-kun!”

 

Aoba Tsumugi knocks on the door of the dance studio, looking a bit awkward and quite a bit lost. “Funny seeing you here. Do you have a moment?”

 

Izumi is jittery. Izumi is frustrated. Izumi does _not_ want to see Aoba Tsumugi, of all people, standing at the door of _his_ studio (it’s the school’s studio, always rented out to Knights, but it might as well be his, fuck off).

 

He stares at this _intruder_ , his ankle propped up on the dance bar for a long, proper stretch, and his lips set into a thin, annoyed line. “No,” he flatly says. “No. Fuck, no. I don’t want _you_ to call me Onii-chan.”

 

Tsumugi blinks behind his glasses, tucking his growing-out hair behind his ears. “Ah, sure? That’s easy enough. Anyway, Shu-kun left his books in the handicrafts club room, and I got lost looking for class 3-A, then I saw you, and you’re in that class, aren’t you?”

 

“…Yes.” Izumi frowns. He drops his leg, standing with his hands on his hips. Maybe Tsumugi isn’t his stalker after all. That would be…better. “Do you need me to hand them off to him or something? Ugh, just leave them by the door, I’ll deal with it.”

 

“Thanks, that’s a huge relief. He’s a very particular guy, you know?” Tsumugi hovers, looking around the studio. “It’s very nice in here. You’re a good dancer, right?”

 

“Yes, because I practice a lot, which is what I was trying to do before you interrupted me. Do you _need_ something?” _Please don’t be my stalker, please don’t be my stalker._

 

“Ah, I suppose not! Thank you for this assistance, Sena-kun. I’ll—Aah!”

 

“Aaaaahhh!”

 

Yuuki Makoto yells when Tsumugi backs up into him, and Tsumugi yells when Makoto does, both of them springing back and adjusting their glasses. “Ah, Yuuki-kun, my apologies!”

 

“No, no, I’m sorry, I bumped into you—“

 

“No, you didn’t, it was all my fault—“

 

Izumi is reaching a _point._

 

Tsumugi is one thing, Makoto another, and combining the two combines intense irritation with intense affection, which just makes his mind short circuit a little bit. His jaw sets tightly, and he sucks in a slow breath through his nose at the endless apologies before he gives up and smiles, too brightly, too sweetly. “Aoba. Shut the fuck up and leave already.” Makoto isn’t his stalker either, but at least he’s a million times more preferable than this weirdo.

 

Tsumugi is at least smart enough to scatter at that tone, and Makoto hangs back towards the wall, trying not to cringe. _Courage_ , he thinks firmly. _It’s your actual name, so try to have some for once!_

 

“Ah…hi, Izumi-san,” he says, awkwardly, moving forward to stand a little closer. All of his instincts rebel, telling him that this is _Izumi_ , that he needs to run away and hide, that he’s being literally the world’s biggest idiot by even coming here in the first place.

 

 _Don’t be weird. Don’t be creepy!_ To be fair, Izumi is always unsure what it is that’s so weird or creepy about the way he acts, but touching is probably part of it…he assumes. Instead of touching, he sighs, hanging his head wearily as he forces himself to turn back towards the dance bar and mirror in spite of wanting to grab Makoto up in a tight hug. Instead, he grabs the dance bar. “Hey.” _If I don’t look at him, if I don’t touch him, I won’t scare him. Maybe? God, this sucks._ “Knights is booked full for Lives right now, we don’t have time to do anything with Trickstar, sorry.”

 

“Whatever,” Makoto says, dismissing that as unimportant for the moment. He clears his throat, trying to remember all of his resolutions, everything he was going to say. _Just pretend you’re talking to Sei_ , he tells himself, like that makes sense. “Ah…Izumi-san…are you free tomorrow night?” _I did it! I asked him! I’m not the weakest coward around!_

 

“Huh?” Izumi frowns, his head snapping up, and he turns to actually _look_ at Makoto. His chest clenches, and he sucks in a slow, even breath. _The worst, this is the worst._ A single hop, and he perches on the dance bar, his fingers white-knuckled. _Yuu-kun is talking to me, Yuu-kun is asking about where I’ll be._ It’s probably some school-related thing. Getting his hopes up doesn’t do him any good with this kind of stuff. “I mean, yeah. Why?”

 

“I, uh…”

 

The courage fails.

 

The words won’t come.

 

Makoto feels his face slowly growing redder and redder, his hands clenching into stupid, impotent fists at his sides. He tries to force the words out, but they won’t come, and all he can think of is how many times he’s told Izumi he’s creepy, told him he’s gross, told him he hates him, run away from him, and why wouldn’t Izumi just _kill_ him?

 

Izumi heaves a sigh. “Yeah, exactly,” he mutters, his head thunking back against the mirrors. “Yuu~kun, when you act like this, it really stresses me out. Go ahead, get out before you get all freaked out again, I’m busy, anyway.”

 

“Dyouwannagtwshithisfriday?”

 

“Yeah, you’re gonna need to repeat that or I’m gonna get mad.”

 

Makoto feels his stomach flop down to his feet. He lifts one, turning to run away, but…but Izumi is _pouting_ in the cutest way that reminds him of Sei, of their online moments, and Makoto finds his feet moving forward, forward, until he’s got a hand on Izumi’s shoulder and another slapping the wall next to him, pressing him up against the wall, and the words come out this time. “Do you wanna go out with Shin this weekend?”

 

Izumi’s next smartass response get stuck in his throat, his mouth dry. “What?”

 

Admittedly, Makoto just _touching him_ on his own would be enough to make his heart pound faster, so this is about as _much_ as Izumi thinks he could ever handle. His breath stutters, his chest tight, his eyes wide.

 

_But Yuu-kun thinks you’re creepy, thinks you’re scary, doesn’t love you, doesn’t even like boys, Yuu-kun would never—_

 

“St…stop fucking with me.” Izumi has more things to worry about than the way he stutters when he’s this flustered, but it still makes him self-conscious. “Yuu-kun—you—w-who told you?” It’s the only thing that makes sense. Right? Fuck, he’s trembling. Makoto’s going to think he’s even grosser and creepier now.

 

For some reason, seeing Izumi flushed and nervous and totally off his game gives Makoto strength, gives him resolve. Izumi isn’t some scary monster, after all—he’s weird, but who isn’t, at this school? Bolstered by that realization, he presses forward, moving the hand on his shoulder to cup Izumi’s chin, looking into his eyes, finding that inner strength he’s been chasing his whole life. “You said to surprise you,” he says, quietly but not softly. “I know I pushed you away a lot, but—but I’m here now, and I want you to go out with me!”

 

“Holy shit.” The words escape before Izumi can filter them, and he clamps a hand over his own mouth, staring back at Makoto in open disbelief. “You…no. No way. _Really?”_

 

His knees wobble, and Izumi reaches back to helplessly grip the dance bar harder. He’s got to be dreaming. Hallucinating, maybe? No, he definitely ate a bunch of seaweed today, he’s not at the point of hallucinating. This is real, and Makoto is so close to him, Makoto is _asking him out_ , Makoto is Shin, the guy who has been getting him off over a webcam twice in a row now. “I…I…yes? Holy shit. Yuu-kun…this…this isn’t a trick, right?”

 

“Uh, no, it’s not a trick…” Makoto swallows hard, but this is going surprisingly well, so he steps forward, pressing Izumi against the wall. The more he can keep Izumi off-balance, the more he gets the _real_ Izumi, the one he’d liked in the first place, before everything had become terrible. “And,” he adds, under his breath, “if you come back to my apartment after, I’ll do everything I said I would…Oniichan.”

 

Izumi is pretty sure he squeaks. _When did Yuu-kun get so high-level?_ he frantically thinks, feeling how hot his face is, feeling how _most_ of his blood keeps traveling south anyway… “Okay,” he whispers, his chest heaving. “Okay. Yes. Okay. Please. Y…Yuu-kun, when did you…when did you get so manly, you’ve gotta give me a minute…”

 

“I grew up,” Makoto says simply. Hopefully it means as much to Izumi as it does to him. In deference to the minute Izumi had asked for, he pulls back, letting Izumi calm down a bit, and nods. “Text me. We can go wherever you want, all right? And then…back to my place. Friday.”

 

“Kiss me.” It comes out as an order, but it’s definitely more of a plead, and Izumi’s hand reaches out to accompany it, grabbing at the edge of Makoto’s sleeve. Maybe then he can believe this is _happening._

 

For once, Makoto doesn’t hesitate. He lurches forward, grabbing Izumi’s face in both hands, yanking him close with all the repressed lust of the last few weeks, the frustration of the last couple of _years_ , all channeled into one hard kiss, all lips and teeth and tongue, clinging on to Izumi with the muscles that Oogami had been able to kick into him.

 

Izumi melts.

 

He’s dreaming, probably, definitely—or so he’d think, except Makoto is so warm and solid pressed up against him that his mind won’t let him be fooled. He whimpers, helplessly throwing his arms around Makoto to drag him close and kiss him back just as hard, his nails scoring down his back when he feels their teeth click together and his tongue get sucked on.

 

He’s going to start crying at this rate, or maybe he’ll just die.

 

“Yuu-kun,” Izumi whispers, his eyes fluttering as he clings. “Mmph—Y…Yuu-kun…”

 

Makoto wavers. His instinct is to tell Izumi to skip school, to go back to his apartment right now—

 

But then it wouldn’t really change anything, would it?

 

He draws back, nodding to himself, and smiles a little. “Okay. Friday. And then I’ll…” Can he say it? No, not yet, his mouth isn’t ready to be that filthy in real life like it is online. “I’ll treat you to something nice.”

 

“Nnn, no, you get back here and kiss me again,” Izumi mutters, mindlessly following after Makoto and latching onto his arm. This is happening, actually happening, and he’s far too elated to be _calm_ about it. “Just one more time. Okay, two more times, it always has to be three.”

 

A spark of humor enters Makoto’s eyes, and he kisses Izumi again, and again, and a fourth time, letting his hand wander down to grab Izumi between his legs, squeezing firmly, as if he knows what the hell he’s doing.

 

Then he pulls back, and nods once. “See you Friday, Onii-chan!” he calls, and runs out the door.

 

Izumi slowly slides down to the floor, and stays there—except to reach for his phone in his bag.

 

**To: Naru-kun**

**Subject: help**

**it’s stalker-kun**

 

**To: Izumi-chan**

**Subject: omg**

**omw dance studio? r u safe**

 

**To: Naru-kun**

**Subject: dead on floor**

**good bye**

 

“Fuck,” Arashi spits, and hits the hallways, leaving Mika and his open cosmetics behind, one eye smoky and one tight-lined in their experiments, sprinting down the halls as quickly as possible—and given his physical capabilities, he winds up at the dance studio in less than a minute, not even panting, just barely starting to sweat. He stares around, ready to fight, eyes wide, but all he sees is Izumi, laying on the floor. “Where is he?” he demands. “What’d he do? You need a doctor?”

 

Izumi nearly drops his phone on his face. “You’re fast,” he dazedly manages, staring up at Arashi where he lies. “Naru-kun…you’re never gonna believe me.”

 

“Who was it?” Arashi asks, looking up and down the hallways, unable to see anyone who looks suspicious. “Was it Aoba? Did he hit you? Did he do something to you? I’ll kill him—“

 

“Naru-kun.” Izumi stretches out a hand, a sigh heaving out from his chest. “Naru-kun…it was Yuu-kun.”

 

Arashi takes a step forward, brow furrowing, rolling up his sleeves, still not entirely sure he won’t have to fight someone. “Did someone hit you in the head?” he asks, honestly concerned.

 

“No. Naru-kun…it was Yuu-kun. He’s my stalker. He made out with me. He wants to go on a date and then do me.”

 

Arashi licks his lips. “Ah…Izumi-chan…hmm, maybe we should go to the infirmary,” he says carefully, keeping his voice low as if he were talking to a very sensitive child or rabid beast. “This is the tape recording all over again…”

 

“No, it isn’t!” Izumi bolts upright. “I’ll text him, you’ll see,” he insists, already typing.

 

**To: Yuu-kun**

**Subject: friday**

**if you take me to that fancy sweets shop in ikebukuro we can use my points card**

 

“Just wait, he’ll text back in a minute.”

 

“Yeah, that sounds super real. Listen, do you do this when bad things happen so you don’t have to talk about them? Because I’m your friend, Izumi-chan. If someone hurt you—was there even really a stalker? Or did you make that up, too, to pretend like someone was that interested in you?”

 

“Fuck you, why would you ask something like that?” Izumi hears the way his voice breaks and hates it, and so he abandons the whole concept of actually standing up in favor of throwing himself back down to the ground, curling up around his phone. “I’m not making it up, Yuu-kun really did ask me out.”

 

Arashi looks down dispassionately, unrolling his sleeves, entirely annoyed now. “I ran down the halls with my makeup like _this_ because I thought you were getting rape-murdered by an internet creep,” he mutters. “I’m gonna call your mom. She said to if you tried to kill yourself again, and I know how you get.”

 

“You’re the shittiest friend in the world if you call my mom right now.”

 

**To: Yuu-kun**

**Subject: :(**

**naru-kun doesn’t believe me please confirm yuu-kun**

 

Arashi throws up his hands. “If you don’t want to be helped, there’s no help. See you in reality, Izumi-chan. You should stop by sometime.”

 

He stalks out of the room, trying to hide his eyes from anyone who looks.

 

**To: Izumi-san**

**Subject: !**

**Sorry i ran into a teacher. Sure you don’t want to get some protein? I’m planning to put you through a hell of a workout ;)**

 

“Wait—Naru-kun, he replied, he _replied!_ Ugh, damn it.”

 

Izumi flops back down, then remembers screenshots exist. He takes one, exhaling a hot breath, and glowers down at his phone.

 

**To: Yuu-kun**

**Subject:**

**there is 171mg of protein on average in semen so i’m good thanks**

 

 _Too much? Is that too much?!_ Izumi’s hands shake. Makoto is Shin and he is Sei, but it’s still…almost like an alternate reality that _any_ of this is happening.

 

**To: Izumi-san**

**Subject: omg??**

**I can’t believe you know that. are you gonna be weird about calories if I make you lick it up?**

 

**To: Izumi-san**

**Subject: >//////<**

**was that too much im trying to be more bold please tell me if im being gross**

 

**To: Yuu-kun**

**Subject: i mean**

**probably. but i’m pretty sure you liked the last time i commented on it**

 

**To: Yuu-kun**

**Subject:**

**you’re not being gross. yuu-kun is being really manly, i might die**

 

More screencaps, _very necessary._

 

**To: Naru-kun**

**Subject: receipts**

**screenshot1.jpg**

**screenshot2.jpg**

**screenshot3.jpg**

 

**To: Naru-kun**

**Subject: >(**

**SEE**

 

**To: Izumi-san**

**Subject: www**

**at least it doesn’t count as calories if I cum on your face right? you’d look so pretty like that.**

 

Arashi shows up in the doorway again, uneven eyes narrowed. “Hand over your phone,” he demands. “I need to see that these aren’t doctored.”

 

Izumi immediately hands his phone over, expression smug. “Line camera can’t doctor things that quickly,” he snidely says. “Look, look. Yuu-kun wants to do dirty things to me.”

 

Arashi scrolls through, sculpted brows rising farther and farther. “Well, fuck me,” he murmurs, and hands it back. “And he’s _dirty_. What the hell happened?”

 

“He grew up. Or so he said.” Izumi rolls over onto his stomach, kicking his feet. “Yuu-kun is s~o dirty, I’m gonna die.”

 

**To: Yuu-kun**

**Subject: hmm**

**i guess it is anti-aging….yuu-kun really wants me to be a mess, huh**

 

“What the hell, did you bully him for so long that his brain and his dick fused into one?” Arashi asks, incredulous. “Seriously, Izumi-chan…this is crazy. Are you going to survive this?”

 

**To: Izumi-san**

**Subject: ;)**

**I mean it sounds good to come on your face but most of the time I want to be inside you a few times a day at least. I hope all your stamina isn’t just for show…im running out of credits haha**

 

Izumi’s hands shake, and he gives up after a second of staring at that text, passing the phone back to Arashi. “Nope. I’m gonna die.”

 

“To quote our cute newbie, _Jesus Christ_ ,” Arashi marvels, scanning over the text and passing it back. “It’s hard to believe this is that little megane boy. Can he back it up in real life?”

 

“Who knows. He kisses like a boy,” comes Izumi’s muffled response as he buries his face down into his arms. “But I like that, I want him to act straight around me, it turns me ooonnn.”

 

“That’s because you want to be someone’s cute girlfriend,” Arashi says with a sigh. He kneels, petting Izumi’s hair. “Calm down, you’re overstimulated. I mean, I understand why.”

 

**To: Izumi-san**

**Subject: ahhh**

**was that too much shit shit sorry**

 

Izumi grabs for his phone again helplessly.

 

**To: Yuu-kun**

**Subject: overstimulated**

**dying a little. yuu-kun you’re so hot i’m gonna die. save your phone credits i need to lie down**

 

The phone plops down again, and Izumi surrenders to being petted. “I don’t know how to be a cute girlfriend, I’m mean.”

 

“Yeah…you are kinda mean,” Arashi agrees, petting Izumi’s hair gently, tugging him close. “But that doesn’t mean you aren’t cute, too. I think you’d be a fun cute girlfriend.”

 

**To: Izumi-san**

**Subject: oh**

**ah i meant credits on CherryLive? I was joking about not wanting to pay to see u anymore, sorry for not being clear…**

 

**To: Izumi-san**

**Subject: wait**

**I mean it’s fine. You should lie down now bc you won’t get any rest after Friday!**

 

“Aww, he’s trying to be _so_ manly. It’s kinda cute.”

 

**To: Yuu-kun**

**Subject: WHATEVER**

**SHUT UP IM DYING OVER HERE YUU-KUN**

 

“It’s not kinda cute, it’s _so_ cute,” Izumi bemoans, flopping into Arashi’s arms and burying his face into his neck. “Is being tsundere good enough? Tsundere girls are cute, right? Kill me now.”

 

“I think he’s killing you with kindness better than I ever could,” Arashi says, more amused than he wants to be. Sure, he probably shouldn’t laugh so much, but in his defense, this is _hilarious_. “Izumi-chan…seriously, you can calm down. He’s already seen all of your worst parts, and he’s the one that came after you. You probably don’t have to worry about scaring him off.”

 

“You don’t get it.” Izumi huffs, butting his head against Arashi’s shoulder. “I love him. _Really_ love him. What if this is just a sex thing to him? I mean, that’s important, too, but it’s…am I thinking too far ahead? It doesn’t feel that way, I’ve loved him forever.”

 

“Well, what do you love about him? I’ve asked you that before, and all you said is that Yuu-kun was Yuu-kun, and I wouldn’t understand, and that’s probably why he hates you—or hated you, I guess.” Arashi thinks, then suggests, “Tell me like it’s your wedding and you have to say it in your toast. What are the things you like about him that make him special to you?”

 

**To: Izumi-san**

**Subject: train home :/**

**are you doing a cam show this week?**

 

**To: Izumi-san**

**Subject: wait**

**I mean, don’t do a cam show this week. You should only show that to me if we’re going out now.**

 

“That’s not why he hates me.” Izumi knows that much, at least.

 

**To: Yuu-kun**

**Subject: obviously**

**i’m not doing it anymore if i have you.**

 

“Yuu-kun is Yuu-kun,” Izumi quietly says, setting his phone down. “He feels like home. He’s sweet and warm and normal. I don’t think it’s so bad to love that kind of thing the most.”

 

 _And you imprinted on him like a little duckling because everyone else you knew back then was always trying to grab at you,_ Arashi hazards a guess, though he won’t say that aloud. He pets the top of Izumi’s head, and nudges his shoulder. “We’re not doing it anymore now that you’ve got him, huh? Hope he’s as good in bed as he says online. And…man, I hope he loves you like you love him, I really do.”

 

“Yeah, sorry.” Izumi sways with the nudge. “Even if he sucks, I don’t really care. I can teach him how to be good. It’s Yuu-kun, so it’s already going to be better than anything else.”

 

Arashi laughs gently, tousling Izumi’s hair to defiantly mess it up. “At least Ritsu-chan will be overjoyed. He’s always been rooting for you two, says you’re like a mirror version of him and Isara.”

 

“Kuma-kun is gross,” Izumi grumbles, reaching up to smooth his hair back down. “Ugh, are we all going to end up dating someone on Trickstar? Don’t go for the kid that likes shiny shit, he eats coins.”

 

“Ew, no way!” Arashi laughs, kicking out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “He calls me ‘Okama-kun,’ he thinks I’m going to eat him alive. Which. I mean. Could have _less_ appeal, but that’s just the way I am, you know?”

 

“Yeah, he makes me wanna punch him every time he does that,” Izumi admits, flopping his head against Arashi’s shoulder. “Hey. If this is all fake and he’s just getting revenge on me and fucking with me, will you help me get some cyanide so I can just die already?”

 

“Don’t be dumb, I don’t want to go to jail. I’ll go to the forest and help you throw a rope, though.”

 

“Oh, nice. Okay, cool. That works for me.”

 

~

 

Friday doesn’t come soon enough for a jittery, excitable, nervous Yuuki Makoto. He brings some of the nicest clothes he has to meet Izumi after school, changing into them after tennis practice. Hopefully, he’s kept it together well enough until then, and he waves awkwardly, standing where Izumi had asked to meet by the fountain. “Izumi-san,” he calls, though obviously Izumi can see him. “You, uh, ready to go?”

 

Izumi, neatly dressed and looking very much like he’s about to head to a magazine shoot while glowering down into his phone, immediately perks up with Makoto’s presence. “Ah, Yuu-kun! Definitely, definitely, let’s go,” he hums, trotting over and grabbing for Makoto’s hand. “You look so handsome. Did you get all dressed up just for me?” The glasses could go, of course, but then maybe too many people would look at Makoto when he’s _clearly_ taken.

 

Makoto almost yanks his hand away on reflex, but then remembers that this is his idea, that Izumi isn’t here to hurt or confuse him. He thinks of Izumi online, pouting at him, and his hand moves on its own, lacing his fingers through Izumi’s. “Ah, should we put masks on? So we don’t get recognized? Izumi-san is a famous model and idol, after all…”

 

His heart thumps hard in his chest, and Izumi feels his face flush hot. _This is not real, this is all a dream—isn’t it?_ “So are you,” he scolds instead, pulling out a mask from his pocket and offering it to Makoto. “Those awful glasses are pretty distinctive, you know. Ahh, this is why I never go out anymore,” he complains, hooking his mask over his ears and pulling it up. “Yuu-kun must have a lot of fans that bug him all the time, too.”

 

“Not really? I think Akehoshi-kun and Hidaka-kun are much better idols than I am, and Isara-kun is much better looking,” Makoto says self-deprecatingly. He pulls on his own mask, and remembers what Mao had suggested, squeezing Izumi’s hand. “Ah, how are things going with Knights, since your leader is back? I noticed you’ve had more Lives lately, right?”

 

“Ou-sama is perfect,” Izumi immediately says, pulling Makoto towards the school gates. “So of course we’ve been doing a lot more lately. Yuu-kun should come to our Lives again,” he insists. “I’ll get you special seats, it’ll be a lot of fun. You really do have a lot of fans, you know, they ask about you in all my fan letters.”

 

“Eh? About me? Ah, I thought all of your fans would be much cooler girls. Trickstar fans are kind of gentle next to modeling fans, I guess.” Makoto matches Izumi’s stride, looking down at their joined hands. It still doesn’t feel real. “It’s…I keep having to tell myself this isn’t a dream,” he says quietly. “Do you feel like that, too?”

 

“My fans _are_ cool, dumbass, they want us to date.” Which made a lot of those letters pretty difficult to read most days, but now…Izumi swallows, shrugging helplessly. “I keep expecting this to be a huge joke,” he mutters, glancing down. “I’m…I was pretty sure you hated me. You made it pretty obvious.”

 

“Izumi-san…” He’s going to have to tackle these issues sooner or later, he supposes, and at least now they’re in public. “I can’t go back, and neither can you, right? We can’t do anything over again, I think…but I didn’t hate you. You just scared me all the time. But I’m not scared anymore.”

 

“Why?” Izumi abruptly asks, dragging Makoto to a stop and clinging more tightly to his hand. “Why aren’t you scared anymore? I’m not any different, you know. I _never_ changed, Yuu-kun, you’re the one that started being completely different.”

 

“I…”

 

It would be easy to run away from this conversation, Makoto knows. He could either run away, or he could change the subject, and shove Izumi against the wall. It would work. But…it wouldn’t really be fair.

 

“I want to become the kind of man I’d be proud to be,” he says quietly, looking down at his feet. “I used to think that it would just _happen_ , that things would stop being scary and I’d just suddenly turn into someone like you overnight, but…this last few months, with Trickstar? I guess it feels more like growing up is something you do yourself on purpose. I don’t want to just…let things happen to me anymore. And I saw you online, and you were so beautiful, and I just—I was so angry with myself for ignoring how much I liked you just because you were scary, if that makes sense?”

 

“…You’re an idiot,” Izumi softly says, though without any of the sharpness he’d normally say it with. He releases Makoto’s hand to grab him by the shoulders instead, and gives him a firm shake. “A _huge_ idiot. You know I’d let you do anything to me, right? Yuu-kun, it’s not like you’ve never seen me naked before. You already knew I was hot. Uggh, I’m so annoyed with you, if you liked me, you should have been more honest about it!” _It’s the only thing I_ can _be honest about, this doesn’t seem fair._

 

Makoto grabs Izumi’s hands, stepping forward, keeping him off-balance, eyes suddenly intent. “ _And_ ,” he adds, as firmly as he ever has, “you came on way too strong. I can keep up now, I’m grown up, but I couldn’t before, so you were way too much!”

 

“O..oh.” Izumi blinks a few times, swallowing hard. Huh. Who knew, Makoto being this forceful and _firm_ is a _great_ thing. “I’m…I’m sorry.” He bites his lip behind his mask, worrying it. “I never meant to scare you. It was just…really frustrating how you kept running from me after being close to me for so long. Yuu-kun—you’re _not_ allowed to leave me again, you know.”

 

Makoto nods, then smiles, and takes Izumi’s hand again. “I’d say you’re not gonna be allowed to leave me either,” he says frankly, “but instead I’m just going to be so good that you won’t _want_ to go anywhere.”

 

“Super manly,” Izumi mutters, squeezing Makoto’s hand as he immediately presses closer. “Screw going out,” he breathes. “Take me _home_ , Yuu-kun, I want you to take care of me.”

 

“I’ve never been so glad that my mom works so much.” The words almost come out as a squeak, and Makoto clears his throat, trying to let the words come out firmer, more certain. He squeezes Izumi’s hand, then changes direction, tugging him down a side street. “I usually don’t go this way because it’s dark, but if we’re together it’s a _lot_ faster.”

 

“Yuu-kun will protect me, right?” Izumi teases, his eyes bright as he pulls his mask down and presses close to Makoto’s side. He leans in to kiss at Makoto’s neck, his teeth catching against the lobe of his ear. “I like it when you take charge, you know.”

 

“I think I’d have to be pretty stupid not to figure that much out by now,” Makoto says, but Izumi’s teeth send a shiver through him so strong that his steps falter, and he has to put a hand to the wall of a building to stop himself from falling to his knees. “Izumi-san, you’re too sexy, I’m gonna be forced to do bad things to you!”

 

“Oh, no, not that, never that,” Izumi drawls before he continues, sucking on the same spot that he bit. “Yuu~kun, just call me ‘Izumi’, no honorific, it’s way cuter that way.”

 

Makoto’s steps quicken, and he finds some strength at the bottom of his chest, snaking an arm around Izumi’s waist. “Izumi better hope none of his fans see, then,” he teases, tugging as hard as he can. “Because your fans are gonna see you super weak in the knees.” With that, he slides his hand down, giving that ass he’s stared at so many times a firm squeeze.

 

Izumi stumbles, his face suddenly hot when Makoto grabs him like that. Well—true enough, huh? “I’m gonna climb on you the second we’re in your stupid apartment,” he groans, clinging to Makoto’s arm when his legs wobble. “Yuuuu-kun…you were cute before, when did you get hot? I’m mad.”

 

“I’m pretty sure you just need to get used to it, though?” Makoto teases, and finally turns down his own street, thankful that he’d taken a route close to his apartment. “Okay, be cool in the lobby and the elevator, though, I don’t want anyone telling my mom.” And because that doesn’t seem cool, he adds, “Isn’t it sexy if you’re my dirty secret?”

 

 _Nice save_ is on the tip of Izumi’s tongue, but he lets it go, releasing Makoto’s arm once they come upon the lobby. “It’s not like I’m allowed to be dating anyone, anyway,” he wryly points out. “So I guess we’re both like that, hmm?”

 

“I think that’s pretty normal with idols…but it’s easier than if we were girls,” Makoto offers with a shrug. Fortunately, he’s only on the fourth floor, and he makes short work of the lock, twisting his key and opening the door. The second it’s open, he loses his cool completely, grabbing Izumi and shoving him up against the closed door, eyes burning as the force of the shove closes and latches the door. Just a few months ago, being in a closed room with Izumi would terrify him. Now he’s a little nervous, but mostly from apprehension, and he kills that by kissing Izumi hard, harder than he had in the dance studio, hands pinning Izumi’s shoulders against the walls.

 

Izumi barely has a chance to look around Makoto’s familiar apartment—it hasn’t changed, even after all these years—before he’s kissed, and that’s such an intense relief that he hears himself whimper, his hands grasping to grab handfuls of Makoto’s shirt.

 

Makoto’s tongue is in his mouth, and Izumi eagerly sucks on it, panting between hard kisses. Arching off the door, he groans at the drag of his cock against Makoto’s hip, his toes curling in his shoes. Online cams and chat rooms are one thing, but they don’t even come _close_ in comparison to the warmth of an actual, breathing human—to _Yuu-kun_ , in particular.

 

“You want me to do all those things to you, don’t you?” Makoto breathes, leaning up to let his tongue trace the edge of Izumi’s ear, thrilled to realize he’s taller now, that Izumi has to strain up to be on his level. He shifts, enough to grind his hips against Izumi’s, rocking him against the wall harder and harder, teeth scraping against his earlobe. “You want me to, even if it’s too much, because you’re dying for it, right?” Izumi keeps _not pushing him away_ , and that’s the headiest drug Makoto’s ever taken.

 

The words are the same, and that makes Izumi’s knees wobble. “Y-yes,” he gasps, his fingers shaky when they forcibly pry their way away from Makoto’s shirt, no matter how he wants to keep pulling him in, keeping him close. His cock throbs, and he bites at his lower lip, grabbing for one of Makoto’s hands. “I…” _Saying_ what he wants to say is a lot harder when he’s not behind a camera; Makoto seems to have a leg up on that, actually. At least what he wants to get across is a lot easier without words, and Izumi drags Makoto’s hand down his chest, letting him feel the tell-tale bumps and lines of lace through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I bought t-this for you to see,” he manages, his chest heaving. “Only you.”

 

Makoto’s mouth goes dry, and his eyes dilate as his fingers trace over what’s so clearly lingerie, and much more expensive than anything he can afford. He nods, and steps back, locking the door and nodding towards his room. “In there. I want you to strip for me. Slow, like you’re…trying to convince me.”

 

Izumi nods shakily, stumbling away from the door as he kicks his shoes off. “I’ll make it good,” he promises, grabbing Makoto’s hand to pull him with him.

 

Even Makoto’s room hasn’t changed much since he’s seen it last, save for one or two Trickstar event posters tacked up onto the walls. Unimportant. More important is dragging Makoto to the bed and pushing him down onto the edge, where Izumi shucks his coat and climbs into his lap, straddling Makoto’s hips as he flips open the first two buttons of his shirt. “I want Yuu-kun to think I’m the prettiest,” he breathes. “What if I told you I’ve been wearing this at school all day, waiting for you to see it?”

 

Makoto leans up on his elbows, eyes hungry, drinking in every inch of skin that Izumi exposes. Embarrassingly, some of the jealousy Izumi has always displayed—not wanting him to talk to anyone else, not wanting him to date anyone else—rears its head, and he lets his hands settle on Izumi’s hips, squeezing enough to feel the lines of lace and elastic under his clothes. “You’d better only show it to me now, right? Someone so pretty…you should tell me what you need.” How is he doing this without dying of embarrassment? Maybe it’s the way Izumi keeps reacting to his words, making him think he’s doing a good job, spurring him on.

 

Izumi’s breath hiccups. Another button undone, and the tiniest sliver of pale, silvery-blue lace peeks its way out. He knows Makoto can feel the lines of the lingerie wrapped around his hips as well, and that makes a sharp shiver drag its way down his spine. “If…if I’m not allowed to show anyone else…then you’ve gotta be the one to take care of me.” Another button, and his shirt slinks down his shoulders a bit more, letting Makoto see the thin straps pulled tight against his skin. “You’re gonna fuck me so hard that I can’t think of anything else, right?” Izumi lurches forward, his mouth on Makoto’s neck, his fingers fumbling with the last couple of buttons. “Yuu~kuuun…”

 

A striptease was a good idea at first. But after just a second, Makoto is so hard that his mind clicks off, and he surges up, dumping Izumi on his back and yanking his pretty leggings down and off, tossing them over his shoulder, pressing Izumi down to the bed. He grabs one toned leg and kisses the ankle, then drapes it over his shoulder, leaning in close, reaching a hand down to unbutton his pants. “You get to show me how flexible you are now, Izumi-sa—Izumi,” he corrects, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in every part of his skin. “I’m the only one who can give you what you want, right? Touch it, I know you want to—“

 

This isn’t his biggest fantasy or _anything._ Tossed down onto Makoto’s bed, wearing nothing but expensive lingerie, pinned and bent and with Makoto acting like he’s going to fuck him within an inch of his life—Izumi swallows hard, his mouth dry, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t come, especially with how his cock throbs behind tight lace.

 

Helplessly, he paws a hand down, grabbing for Makoto’s cock, feeling it first through fabric. It’s so hot and hard against his palm that his chest heaves, and Izumi shoves his hand into Makoto’s pants, squeezing it through his underwear, his eyes fluttering. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Yuu-kun…fuck you, you’re bigger than that toy, you weren’t lying.”

 

“I wouldn’t lie about something like that,” Makoto mutters. “Then you’d be disappointed.”

 

Having a hand on his cock makes him bite his lip, groaning, and he pulls back just enough to shove his pants and underwear down around his knees. That’s about all the energy he has that he doesn’t want to spend on _touching Izumi,_ sliding his hands all over the icy-blue lingerie, letting his fingertips delve under to rub against one nipple, feeling it harden under his touch. “Izumi…is so pretty like a girl in this stuff,” he breathes, and shifts forward, letting the head of his cock drag against Izumi’s thigh, shivering at the touch.

 

Izumi’s voice breaks on a whine when he tries to speak, jerking up against the touch to his nipple and frantically grabbing for Makoto’s wrist to keep his hand there. _Seeing_ Makoto’s cock makes his face hot, and he licks at his lips, squirming to splay his legs further apart. “It’s…it’s gonna be a lot when it’s in me,” he breathes. “B-but I want it, even if it’s too much…nnhh, hurry up, you’ve got lube, right? You don’t have to use a condom, but I wanna be nice and wet for you…”

 

Makoto hesitates. But Izumi wouldn’t say something like that if there was any danger…would he? He grabs for the lube, flipping the cap open and drizzling it over Izumi’s hole, bringing a couple fingers up to rub it all around, licking his lips as he tries to catch his breath. “Now Izumi’s all wet like a girl,” he says, letting just the tip of one dip inside, which makes him want to whimper at how hot and tight it is, squeezing his finger. “Ah, how many guys do you let do you this way? There’s no good way to ask, I guess…”

 

“T-there’s…” Izumi sucks in a sharp breath, and he arches his back, mouth falling open when that makes Makoto’s finger sink deeper into him. It feels _good,_ that achy little intrusion, and his toes curl as his heel digs into Makoto’s shoulder. “There was only one guy,” he says honestly. “A-and we always used condoms, so…so you don’t have to worry about anything. I’m…I’m picky, you know? I really wanted it to be Yuu-kun, but…nnn, I’m horny all the time, I couldn’t wait anymore…”

 

The idea that Izumi had wanted to wait, but _couldn’t_ , somehow makes Makoto even harder than if he had waited. His cock is achingly hard, and he rubs it on Izumi’s thigh again, letting his finger dip in farther, deeper, as if he’s unsure how far it can go. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, eyes locked on that place where his finger disappears into Izumi’s body. “I’m gonna be in you all the time now. That’s what you need, right? You’re…Izumi is going to be begging me to stop by the time I’m done.”

 

The words are way too big for his level of expertise, but they also make Izumi all shaky and trembly, so hopefully they help to even the playing field a bit.

 

Izumi gulps, his cock twitching hard at the words just as Makoto’s finger curls and strokes exactly where it needs to. It’s definitely accidental, but it doesn’t matter. It’s too easy to imagine Makoto fucking him whenever _he_ wants it, not when Izumi does, not giving a shit if he’s busy or trying to practice or if he has a shoot he has to be perfect for later that day—

 

His body clenches down involuntarily, and Izumi clamps a hand over his own mouth when his breath hitches and his voice breaks, half-squirming away and half-squirming closer when the first, hard spasm of an orgasm takes him by surprise. “F-fuck—fuck, Y…Yuu-kun, I…” He whimpers, his eyes squeezing shut, his legs trembling with every shivery little jolt. “Please…please, you’ve gotta put it in me, I…”

 

Makoto’s eyes go wide. Had he done that—is that really all it takes? Shit, he is _good_ at sex already and he hasn’t even had it yet! No, he’s got to be better, Izumi looks like he’s dying for it, and that goes through him like warm electricity, electrifying his senses. “Get your legs farther apart,” he murmurs, spreading his knees on the bed, using a hand to guide himself to where his fingers had been, resting against that tight, spasming hole. He means to ask if Izumi is all right, to ask if he’s really ready, but the pressure and slick heat is too much, and he lurches forward without meaning to, thrusting in deep in one urgent, almost accidental thrust that feels like he’s charging headlong into heaven.

 

The aftershocks of an abrupt orgasm _don’t_ make it easier to take a dick, but in a way, that’s better. Makoto’s cock sinking into him feels like too much, and Izumi’s chest heaves, his hands grabbing for whatever part of Makoto he can reach as he struggles to relax, to make it easier when all he wants to do is clench down and squeeze tight around that achingly hard, thick cock. “Y…Yuu-kun…” His voice is eager and rasping, and he squirms to try and find leverage, even as his chest rises and falls too fast, as his stomach hollows out with each sharp breath that just makes him clench down harder. His cock twitches underneath much stickier lingerie, which almost _hurts_ in its intensity. “Please—you feel—“

 

“Please tell me it’s good, I don’t think I can stop so I really hope it’s good, oh god, Izumi-san, it’s so nice, you feel so good, I’m never taking it out—“ He’s babbling, Makoto knows he’s babbling, but what else can he do when Izumi feels like _this_ , when Izumi is so tight, _tight_ around his cock that it feels like being in another world, and all he can do is rut up like some kind of animal, slamming deep into Izumi as fast as he can, the delicious friction helping to take away some of that pounding ache and turn it into something so good there isn’t a word for it.

 

“Y-yeah, it’s good, it’s—“ Izumi reaches back reflexively, seeking out his headboard, only to groan in irritation at Makoto’s shitty twin bed that’s _not_ giving him the leverage he needs. Fuck it. Who needs leverage? “Put my other leg up, too,” he insists, getting his nails into Makoto’s shoulder for a second and sinking them in to get his attention. His vision blurs, a little wet from overstimulation, and he blinks hard, exhaling a heated rush of breath as his head flops down onto a pillow. “Then you can really hold me down…nnn, help, if you pull my hips up a bit more, it’ll feel even better…”

 

That sounds like a lot of directions in Makoto’s incredibly fuzzy brain, but he does his best, grabbing Izumi’s other leg and yanking it up—wow, it goes right up over his head with the other one, leveraging his hips up, and Makoto lets out a groan that feels like it’s shaking him to the core when that lets him slide in so much deeper. He presses a bruising kiss to Izumi’s mouth, hearing the slap of their hips together, whispering, “Hear that—you’re taking it all, isn’t it good? You look like—like you’re gonna die if I give you any more, but you want it, r-right? I—fuck, onii-chan, I love you—“

 

And then he loses it, making a sound that’s probably so uncool someone is shaking their head at him from a country away, face buried in Izumi’s shoulder, slamming in with powerful thrusts over and over, and the idea that Izumi is going to be _full of him_ just drags out another hard spurt, making him cry out.

 

Even if Makoto _hadn’t_ taken directions well, the words would’ve been enough.

 

Izumi clamps a hand over his mouth, more or less shoves his knuckles into it, biting down to muffle the embarrassing, broken noises he’s making every time Makoto fucks into him. It _hurts_ , it’s definitely too much, he’s too full and aching and feeling muscles inside and out start to cramp, but Makoto is praising him, Makoto is making him shudder and clench when he kisses him, Makoto calls him _onii-chan_ and he’s done, just fucking _done._

 

He comes harder than he can remember _ever_ coming in recent memory, shivering and shaking and with his chest heaving in long, aching sobs. He can’t even get _away_ from it, not with the way he’s folded and pinned underneath Makoto’s weight, and Izumi hears himself whimpering because of it when every single shift of Makoto’s body just makes his cock twitch harder, wringing out more and more of his orgasm from him. _I’m gonna pass out_ , he almost happily thinks, letting his head weakly loll back as he tries to remember how to breathe.

 

It feels like a year later that Makoto blinks crusty eyes open, blearily wondering why everything is so fuzzy, realizing his glasses had fallen off somewhere. Whatever. He looks down, sees Izumi, and offers a nervous little smile, overly conscious of the fact that they’re still, ah, joined. “You okay?” he asks softly, bringing up a hand to touch Izumi’s cheek.

 

“I’m gonna die,” Izumi hazily, cheerfully says, even as he half-heartedly bats Makoto’s hand away. “Sweaty hand oils, don’t.”

 

“Bear with it,” Makoto teases, and flops down, resting his head on Izumi’s narrow chest. “Can I stay in until it’s totally soft? You feel…so good, even now, I want to die like this.”

 

“Nn, yeah. That’s fine.” Izumi readjusts with some effort, unbending himself to let his thighs splay to either side of Makoto with a satisfying pop of his hips. “Yuu-kun has a nice dick,” he murmurs, petting a hand down Makoto’s back. “And is pretty good even though I totally just took your virginity.”

 

Makoto flushes deep red, avoiding looking Izumi in the eye, squeezing him around the waist. “I thought I did a pretty good job of hiding it? Ah, oh well, I’ll learn as fast as I can, I promise.”

 

“It’s not like I’m complaining, idiot,” Izumi teases, dragging his nails gently up Makoto’s spine. “And you take direction well. Don’t feel bad, I do this to a lot of guys.”

 

“A lot of guys? I thought you were only with one guy before me?” Makoto asks, startled.

 

“Yeah, well. I’m two for two, close enough.”


End file.
